


Out of Good Intent

by orphan_account



Series: A Question of Intent [1]
Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: AUTHOR AU, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Author!Marco, Gardener-slash-landscaper!Jean, M/M, There may or may not be a lot of secondhand embarrassment
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-26
Updated: 2014-09-01
Packaged: 2018-01-10 01:43:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,536
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1153285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Marco Bott is a writer struggling for inspiration when he remembers people-watching is said to be a good way of getting inspiration. Sitting on his porch one morning after a particularly bad night of writing, he realizes his neighbor, the angry-looking guy always in his garden, is a wonderful “specimen” for observation. But when said man notices him watching, Marco gets drawn into much more than he expected. All he had wanted was to people-watch for inspiration…</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Not a Stalker

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marco begins his people-watching and accidentally comes off as a creeper.

“I’m looking for a Mr. Marco Bott?”

“Yep, that’s me.”

“Great! Package for you, sir. If you could just sign here, please.”

I took the pad of paper the delivery man handed me and signed the paper, aware that the guy was staring at me as I did. He opened his mouth to say something as I handed it back, but shut it again before handing me the box. Then he tried again.

“I’m sorry, sir, but are you the same Marco Bott who writes those novels?” he asked. I gave him a small smile and nodded. “Wow, to think I just met my favorite author by doing my job! Small world, huh?”

I chuckled and nodded. “Yep, it sure is. I’m glad to hear you like my books.”

“Hey, um, if it’s not too much to ask… Could I, um…” The guy trailed off, looking down at the ground momentarily before back up at me.

“You want me to sign a copy of my book?” I asked. He nodded, so I leaned forward a bit and tucked the package under my arm. “I don’t normally do this, so don’t go telling anyone, but when you’re off your shift, if you come back with one of your copies I can do that for you. But promise me you won’t go telling people where I live. I’d rather keep my peace, alright?”

The guy looked at me, wide-eyed, and nodded. A grin split his face as he answered. “Yes, sir! Thank you so much! Gosh, this is the best day of my life!”

I laughed. “Alright, then. I’ll see you when you’re off your shift. Now just remember not to tell people where I live. You’re welcome to say you met me, but not where.”

The guy nodded and practically skipped back to his delivery truck. When he turned to get in, I could see he was still grinning widely. I stepped onto the porch to watch him go and noticed my consistently-angry neighbor in his garden again. He was watching the delivery guy leave with a confused-yet-slightly-angry look on his face. He turned to look at me, obviously wondering what in the world I could have done to make someone so happy, but I simply shrugged and smiled. He rolled his eyes and ducked back down to the ground, bending out of my sight.

I went back inside and opened the package, discovering a “congratulations” gift from my parents and little sister. I smiled and carefully set aside the picture my sister drew, deciding to find a frame to hang it later, and found a home for the other things. The rest of the time waiting I spent puttering around my house, waiting for the delivery guy to come back with his book. I wasn’t ready to get to work on my next book yet.

When he finally came back, this time driving a red pickup and wearing jeans and a t-shirt, he was holding two books and fidgeting nervously. “I- I know I asked for just one, but y’see, my kid sister’s birthday is coming up soon, and you’re her favorite author too. She hasn’t read your newest book yet, so I told her I’d get it for her. But then you were so nice about this earlier, I thought maybe you wouldn’t mind signing the one for my sister too?” he asked. He had a western twang to his voice now. Maybe it was a nervous tic. I smiled.

“Sure. Here, why don’t you come in while I sign these?” I stepped aside and waved him into the living room, grabbing a pen from the table by the door. “Go on, sit down. The couch won’t bite.”

The guy sat down, but he continued to fidget. It was almost enough to make me nervous. “Hey, now, calm down. I’m not gonna bite your head off because you asked me to sign a book for your kid sister as well. I’ve got a little sister, too, you know,” I said. I held out a hand. “Let me sign your copy first. What’s your name?”

“My name’s Donny, sir. Thank you again for doing this for me!” he said.

“No need to call me ‘sir’. Just call me Marco.”

I inspected the cover of his book momentarily before opening to the title page. It was well-worn, obviously read many times. It was the most popular of the three, the one about the Titans. It had been based off the nightmares I used to have when I was younger. I signed it to Donny and included a quick message: “Don’t stop fighting”.

“Alright, Donny, let me see your sister’s book. What’s her name?” I asked as I handed him his book back.

“Her name’s Evie. Spelled E-V-I-E,” Donny said as he handed me the new book. I signed that one and wrote a “happy birthday” message before handing it back, smiling at him.

“There you go, Donny.”

“Thank you so much, Marco, sir!” Donny said, standing up and clutching the books to his chest. I smiled and stood, leading him to the door.

“You’re welcome. I hope your sister enjoys it,” I said. I waved as he walked back to his truck. I stayed on the porch until his truck was no longer in view before going back inside.

Now I had no excuse to put off working on the new book. I booted up my laptop and grabbed a lap board and a blanket before curling up on the couch and trying to write. However, the blank Word page was nothing but a grim reminder that I hadn’t been able to think of a single thing to write since a week and a half ago. The flashing cursor was taunting me. I sat staring at the page for five minutes, then went back and reread what I had. When I got back to the blank lines, I buried my face in my hands and groaned.

“Why can’t I think of anything?” I muttered to myself.

_One thing you always need to remember, Marco, is that people-watching is one of the best ways to get inspiration. People do crazy stuff all the time amidst all their everyday activities. You’d be surprised what you’d see. You may even find ways to make your characters more realistic. You never know until you actually try it._

Those were the words of my favorite English teacher back when I was still in school. I hadn’t tried it yet. After a week and a half of struggling, I decided it was the perfect time to give it a chance. I slipped on some shoes and a hoodie and grabbed my wallet and keys before heading out to go for a walk through the park down the street. I went at a leisurely pace, trying to decide if I wanted to go to the coffee shop of the ice cream shop when I got there.

Eventually I decided to go with the coffee shop, and once I had my coffee, I walked to an empty bench and sat down. I thought the number of people was less than it should have been until I glanced at the sky, noticing the light covering of clouds. I sighed through my nose and took a sip of my coffee, watching the kids playing on the equipment and the dogs running around in the dog park beside it. A girl on roller skates with a dog on a leash zoomed by in front of me, while people with ice cream cones wandered and chatted. A young couple on antique-style bikes slowly rolled by, the girl laughing at something the guy said.

None of this was helping.

Maybe going to a park hadn’t been the best idea for inspiration when the story was about the supernatural.

I was just about to get up when I noticed my angry neighbor walking slowly down the path and into the community garden to my left. For a moment I was confused, since he didn’t seem like the type to enjoy being in a park, when I remembered that he was always doing new things with his garden. Maybe he was there to check on something he had put into the community garden, or to look for a new type of plant to try out. I didn’t know.

But I was curious.

And _God,_ was that curiosity eating at me.

I watched him wander through the community garden, trying to keep note of where he bent down to smell some flowers or inspect a plant. When he left, I entered the garden and tried to remember which plants he had shown interest in. As I did, I wondered what exactly had me so intrigued by this man. He and I had never so much as exchanged a few polite words. I didn’t know his name, and unless he recognized me from author portraits (and I couldn’t tell if he was one to read), he didn’t know mine. All I knew about him was that he almost always looked mad and that he liked his garden. Nevertheless, he had caught my attention.

After a little while longer of exploring the garden, I left and began walking back to my house. I didn’t think I had gotten any more inspiration, but as soon as I got home, I discovered that I knew what I wanted to do next with my new book. I grabbed the lap board again and brought it and my laptop out to the porch. I don’t know how long I had been writing, but when I stopped, I had added another two thousand or so words, and the sun was almost set. I looked up and rolled my head, stretching my arms above my head.

I surveyed the street and found it to be mostly deserted, the lights in the houses within my field of vision on. I glanced at the time on my computer and realized it was almost 6:30. I would have to eat soon, but I didn’t feel like making it myself. I stood, deciding I would go out to eat, when I noticed my neighbor was in his yard. I didn’t know how long he had been out there, but he was there working again. I watched for a moment before heading inside to put down my laptop and get my keys and wallet again.

When I went outside again, my neighbor was standing again, facing my house (and whatever it was he had been working on). His dirt-caked hands were on his hips, and his hair was damp with sweat. I let my eyes rest on him for a while, taking in his appearance. He was wearing a plaid button-up shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, paired with plain denim jeans. He had an undercut, and while the top part was sand colored, the bottom part was a darker brown. His face was kind of long, and his usual angry expression was gone. Instead, he was looking at whatever he had been doing with a small, self-satisfied smile.

However, in the next moment, his angry expression was back, and he looked up. I jumped, embarrassed to have been caught staring. He reached up and wiped some sweat from his forehead, smearing some dirt there in the process. His eyes narrowed, as if he wasn’t sure if he wanted to know why I had been staring. I raised up a hand and waved nervously, but when he didn’t respond I dropped my hand. I lifted my hand again after a few moments of awkward silence and gestured to my forehead, letting him know he had dirt there. Before he could react, I hurried on my way toward the center of town.

_God, how embarrassing. It would have been nice if I hadn’t spaced out while staring at him. Well, at least he doesn’t know I was at the park earlier. If he knew that, too, I think I would just have to die of embarrassment right here and now. Okay, now I’m just freaking myself out. Calm down. Deep breaths. In, out… I can’t believe I got myself so nervous about that that I had had to make myself do some deep breathing exercises. I need to just calm down and stop thinking about it._

Once I reached the café I had been heading to, I spent the time there doing more people watching as I ate. Watching others’ eating habits was… An interesting experience, to put it nicely. After that, I was glad that I had never tried being a waiter in high school or college. Nothing that I had seen could have helped me, anyways, so when I finished my food and paid, I just made my way back home. At home, I just changed into some sweats and went to bed.

* * *

 

I spent a lot of time that week going people-watching at the park. I saw my angry neighbor there every day, but aside from the time he caught me staring I had escaped any more embarrassment. My afternoons were spent writing either on my porch or in my yard, and when I didn’t know exactly how to word a thought I found myself looking for my neighbor in his yard.

That Saturday, I was sitting on my porch with my laptop set aside on the little table I had set up beside the chair. I was absently sipping from a can of lemonade and staring at the house across the street, not sure what I wanted to do between what I had and the next leap in the plot. I heard the sound of a trowel hitting dirt and turned to my neighbor’s yard to see if I could see where he was working. This time, I could. He was on his hands and knees, digging a small hole not far from the base of the tree in the far corner of his yard. There was a small herb plant of some sort in one of the plastic pots stores provided resting beside him. This time, he was in a plain black t-shirt and jeans.

I don’t know how long I watched him preparing the hole for the plant, but it must have been a long time, because the next thing I knew, he was setting aside the trowel and there was nothing left in the can. I crushed it between my hands and put it on the ground beside me, still staring absently at my neighbor. However, the sound of the aluminum folding in on itself drew his attention, and for the second time that week he caught me staring. I froze, one hand halfway to my head.

My neighbor stood up and brushed the dirt from his palms before walking over to the fence separating our yards. He slipped himself into a break between the shrubs on his side and crossed his arms. His eyes were narrowed, his expression angry. I bit back the un-manly squeak trying to escape and let my hand drop, waiting for him to tell me off. However, that never came.

“This is the second time I’ve caught you staring. So what’s up? I mean, it’s getting kinda creepy now,” he said. I opened and shut my mouth a few times, probably making myself look like an idiot in the process, before I could answer him.

“I, uh… Well, I’ve always admired the effort you put into your garden, and I guess I just space out while I look at it?” I said. It came out like a question, and I was ready to slap myself because of that. But, while it may not have been the entire truth, it was at least partly true, so I wasn’t lying to him.

He watched me, as if waiting for further clarification, before he sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “You do realize that most other people would have been a lot more creeped out by that than I was, right?” he said.

I nodded. “I’m so sorry about that. I’ll try not to do it any more, I promise.”

“See that you don’t.” He paused. “What’s your name again?”

“It’s Marco. I don’t think I ever told you. This is the most we’ve ever spoken,” I said. My neighbor nodded slowly.

“I’m Jean. Nice to meet you, I guess.”

French name. It wasn’t entirely unusual, I guess, but there weren’t exactly a lot of French people in this neighborhood. Even the way he pronounced his name was uncommon for this area. _J-shaun._ I liked it, though.

“Nice to meet you, too, Jean.” I stood and began gathering my stuff. “I guess I’ll talk to you later…?”

“Yeah…”

Jean turned around and began heading back toward where he had been digging. I was almost to the door with my stuff when he called my name.

“What’s up?” I called.

“I’m going to expect the full reason why you keep staring at me eventually,” Jean replied. He then turned on his heel and went back to preparing the plant.

_Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck._

“Oh… Okay…” I went inside and set my stuff down before I collapsed onto my couch and groaned loudly. How could I explain the full reason without him recognizing me, if he hadn’t already? I didn’t want someone hanging over me, and I didn’t want him thinking I was creepier than he already thought I did. I buried my face in my hands.

_What have I gotten myself into?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, guys, if you've made it down here then I'm hoping that means you've liked it so far!  
> I'm hoping this random idea I had in the middle of the night takes off. (No joke - I woke up at like two in the morning one night and had to write down my idea while half-blind because no glasses and darkness before I forgot it.)
> 
> I haven't decided if I want to make this a series with both point of views yet. I just may do that eventually, though.
> 
> Anyways, love you all, and I hope you're enjoying the ride!


	2. Branching Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marco is rudely awoken and is then invited to be social.

Peaceful sleep is bliss. No faint memories of my childhood nightmares, no actual nightmares of the sort adults would have to worry about, nothing but being completely dead to the world…

Or at least, I had been dead to the world.

“GODDAMMIT YOU TWO!”

“Can it, Jean, there’re kids in the area!”

I jolted awake and sat up, my back pin-straight. My eyes flew wildly around the room, my forced-awake mind not processing what exactly had woken me up. More shouting came from outside before I realized what it was that had woken me up. Jean was having a shouting match with what sounded like a man and a woman in his yard. I blinked in the awkward way only someone barely awake could do and turned to my clock.

The blue LED numbers were flashing 7:02 AM at me.

_Why in God’s name is he having a shouting match at seven in the morning? Obviously he’s an early riser, but not everyone is! I for one was up until two in the morning last night, trying to write…_

I stumbled out of bed and landed in the mass of blankets I had kicked off in my sleep, suddenly glad I moved around a lot in my sleep. Still half-asleep, I shuffled to the window closest to the fence between our yards, tripping over the too-long legs of my sweats in the process. Once I had unlocked the window and slid the bottom pane up so it met the sash, I placed my hands on the windowsill and leaned out the window to search for the rude people.

Before anything else, I noticed that everything seemed to have been washed in gray. I continued scanning the area before finally finding what I was looking for. Standing a few feet away by the corner of Jean’s house were three people, two of whom I didn’t recognize. The girl had brown hair tied in a ponytail and was power-eating what I assumed to be a bagel. The guy had cropped hair and was shorter than the other two. They were talking animatedly – and loudly. I reached up to rub the grit out of my eyes while I called for their attention.

“I don’t know what in the world you guys are arguing about, but that was a pretty rude seven AM awakening. I was up until two last night, you know,” I said, barely making it to the end of my spiel before yawning.

“Sorry about that, Marco. These two little shits decided it would be a great idea to trample my forget-me-not buds,” Jean said, glaring angrily at the other two.

“Hey, in our defense, they’re tiny and hard to see!” the short guy said. The girl, however, had been staring at me as she munched on her bagel. In the next moment, she swallowed so quickly she coughed and had to beat on her own chest before she could say whatever had gotten her so excited.

“Jean, your neighbor’s _naked!_ ” she practically shouted. I was so startled I bumped my head on the window frame, and, judging by Jean’s and the short guy’s reactions, if they had been drinking something, they would have choked and spit it all out.

“Excuse me, ma’am, but I happen to not wear a shirt when I sleep. I’ve got sweats on, see?” I said, tugging on the waistband to prove my point. She nodded and went back to power-eating. No one said anything.

“Well… If you guys can be a little quieter, I think I’m going back to bed…” I said, pointing behind me. I shut and locked the window and turned away, heading back to my bed.

_Man, are his friends lively... I just hope this doesn’t become a regular thing._

I fell back into bed and was asleep within seconds. Thankfully, they didn’t begin another screaming match (or at least, not one outside), so I was able to sleep peacefully for another two hours. When I woke back up, I felt back up to par and decided nine was probably a good time to become a functioning member of society.

After I had showered and put on some clothes, I pocketed some money and my house key and began making my way toward the coffee shop. I didn’t normally walk all the way over there for my morning coffee, but after the events earlier, I was pretty sure I deserved to treat myself.

I hadn’t even gotten past Jean’s house when he stood and left his yard, easily falling into step with me despite being shorter than me. “Hey, Marco, sorry about earlier. Those pieces of shit just-!”

“Trampled your flowers, I know. Did you manage to save them?” I asked.

“Most of them, yeah. But some weren’t so lucky.” He grumbled under his breath after he finished, something about a “Connie and Sasha” and how they were going to “have one coming to them” or something like that.

“Oh. Sorry about that.”

Jean waved a hand. “Not your fault. Still, I’m sorry about that. Connie and Sasha just… They don’t always pay attention to their surroundings. And I don’t have the best temper,” he said.

“I noticed when your shouting woke me up at seven in the morning. And don’t worry about it, I was able to get back to sleep anyways.” We were silent for a few steps. “Were you planning on coming with me to get coffee, or did you just start walking with me to apologize for the shouting?”

“Oh! Oh, uh, I guess I can go with you?” Jean said. He dug in his pockets and stopped, closing his eyes. “Money. That would be a good thing to have if I was going to go get coffee with you.” He began to turn away and head back to his house for some when I stopped him.

“I’ve got enough for us both to get some. You can just pay me back later or something,” I offered. He blinked at me, his expression changing from disbelief to anger yet again. I was beginning to think that “angry” was just his usual expression.

“You sure, man?”

“Yeah, sure. And besides, I feel like I should let you get to know me some since you’ve caught me staring at you twice,” I replied, shrugging.

Jean searched my face with narrow eyes, as if expecting it to be some kind of joke. “Alright, then…”

The rest of the walk to the coffee shop was awkwardly quiet. (I was also beginning to think awkward silence was another forte of Jean’s, as well.) The only words he spoke after that exchange was finished was when he was ordering his coffee. He seemed to open up some more once we had our drinks and were sitting on a bench in the park, though. Neither one of us looked at each other.

“So…”

“So… Who were those people at your place this morning?” I asked, trying to begin a conversation.

“Oh, them? Connie Springer and Sasha Braus. Sasha was the girl eating the bagel, the one who thought you were naked. Connie was the short one.”

“They’re quite characters, aren’t they?”

Jean snorted. “Yeah. ‘Characters.’ They’re characters, alright. Now that they kind of know you and know that I know you exist, don’t be surprised if they try dragging you along into things when they drag me into their plans,” he replied.

I looked over at Jean and examined him. He had draped a necklace with a simple metal charm on it (or maybe he always wore it and I never noticed, I didn’t know), and his slouch was so dramatic his chin nearly touched his chest. His legs were splayed out wide, his feet planted firmly on the ground, and he had his hands wrapped around the base of his cup as he balanced it on his stomach. The sleeves of his coat were hiked up a little, revealing some of his wrists. That was when I noticed that his hands seemed to be permanently stained brown: his hands seemed tan, but from his wrists up his skin was normally colored. I also remembered that he seemed to prefer short sleeves. I took a sip of coffee before I answered.

“Well, I guess it would do me good to get out of the house once in a while.”

Jean looked over at me. “Yeah, I’ve noticed you don’t go out much. What is it you do in there all the time, anyways? The same thing you do on your porch in the afternoons?”

_Well, at least he isn’t prying about what that is, exactly. And he hasn’t seemed to figure it out just yet. I can tell him… Eventually._

“Yeah. Yeah, that’s what I do.”

“You work from home or something? A couple of times I’ve looked out a window pretty late at night and I’ll see you through one of your windows typing away at whatever it is. You always seem to forget to close your blinds when you do that,” he said.

“Yeah, I work from home… Do I really forget to close my blinds when I stay up late?”

“Yeah. I mean, it’s not like I use binoculars to try to see what you’re doing in there, but it’s kind of hard to ignore a light in what would otherwise be a view of a dark side of a house.”

I looked at Jean for a few moments, then back down at my lap. “Gotta remember to start closing those blinds…” I mumbled to myself.

“What was that?”

“Oh, nothing. Talking to myself.”

The silence returned, but it wasn’t quite so awkward this time. After a while, though, I couldn’t bear it any longer.

“So what is it that you do?” I asked.

“Landscaping.”

“Really? Well, I guess that makes sense. You _do_ spend a lot of time in your garden. Which is really pretty, by the way,” I commented. Jean didn’t look at me, but I noticed a small smile grace his lips.

“Thanks.” He paused. “Some of the other yards around the neighborhood are my work too.”

“Can you tell me which ones, or is there some sort of customer privacy thing you have going on?” I asked. I was curious. There were some pretty nice yards in the neighborhood (mine not among those).

“Nah, I can tell you a few. Connie and Sasha are two. They have that house with the orange tree in the front. Then that one house with those three red maple trees and the creeping ivy going up the side of the house is another one I did. That belongs to those two girls, Ymir and Krista. And then there’s that house with the river rock bed and the rose bushes under the windows. That’s where the attached-at-the-hips trio, Reiner, Bertolt, and Annie, live. That’s just to name a few,” he said. I nodded.

Yet another silence draped itself over us. Jean broke it after a short while, standing and looking up at the overcast sky. “We should probably head back. It looks like it’s going to rain soon,” he said.

He gripped his coffee cup tightly with both hands, and I noticed his knuckles growing white. I hadn’t seen the forecast that morning, but based on his composure, I guessed that it had predicted a storm. If he was worried, though, I didn’t know why he would have come with me to the park. I stood and shoved one hand in my jacket pocket.

“Sure.”

We began walking back toward our houses, the silence feeling awkward again. Jean was, once again, the one to break it.

“Can I ask what it is you do on your computer all the time?” he asked.

I stiffened, the hand in my pocket clenching so even my short, blunt nails were biting into my palm. I felt Jean’s eyes on me as he waited for me to answer. I looked at him and simply shook my head. I couldn’t tell him. I didn’t know him well enough yet, and I still didn’t know if he read my books. I didn’t know what he would do if he was a fan and suddenly discovered I lived next door to him. I knew I was probably just being paranoid, but I just didn’t want to deal with it if there was even the slightest possibility.

Jean sighed and looked down at his cup. He moved one hand away to pop up the collar of his denim jacket, to protect his neck against the wind picking up at our backs. He then let his hand drop to his side.

“Okay, I guess I can understand why you don’t want to tell me. But I really do expect to be told someday if it has to do with why you were staring at me,” he said.

“Okay. That’s understandable. I’ll… I’ll tell you eventually, but I can’t right now,” I said.

The look on Jean’s face said he wasn’t sure whether or not he could believe me, but at that moment, the rain began. I jumped when I felt the first rain drop on my face.

“Shit! I dunno about you, Marco, but I gotta get home. I need to watch over my plants, make sure they don’t get washed away.”

With that, Jean began running toward his house. A moment later, I was running behind him, not catching up but not falling behind either. Jean burst through his gate and up to his house, slamming the door behind him. Right as I reached my door, he came back out and slammed the door again, this time holding garden fabric covers and rope. I watched him begin draping the covers over his young plants. If he was being this protective, they had definitely predicted a storm. I set down my cup and jogged over to his yard, throwing up my hood as I went.

“Hey, Jean, you want some help?” I called as I entered his yard. He looked up from covering his herb plant, squinting through the rain.

“That would be great, if you don’t mind risking getting muddy,” he replied.

“Alright, well, you’ve gotta tell me what ones I have to cover and how to do it because I don’t know much about plants,” I said as I caught the covers and rope he tossed me.

“That’s fine. Another pair of hands is always welcome, even if you aren’t sure what you’re doing.”

We spent what I assume was about half an hour covering Jean’s young plants. Once we finished, Jean invited me to sit with him on his porch. He disappeared for a few minutes into his house, leaving me to marvel over how beautiful his garden looked in the rain. He returned holding two mismatched mugs full of hot chocolate that had been topped with sagging swirls of whipped cream.

“I didn’t know if you liked whipped cream on your hot chocolate, but I put some on anyways. If you don’t want it I can take it, but it’s pretty good mixed in,” he said, handing me one of the mugs. I noticed a spoon sticking out of the mug.

“Thanks, Jean. Here, you should take half of it. This is a bit much for me,” I said, holding out my mug to him once he had settled into the lawn chair beside mine.

Jean pulled his spoon out of his mug and licked the handle clean before he began scooping small amounts into his mouth. When half was gone, he turned his attention to his own whipped cream. I stirred what was left into my hot chocolate, watching the color turn from a dark brown into a milkier shade. I took a sip and noticed that the hot chocolate was great, way better than any powder could have been. I turned my attention to Jean, who was slowly making a dent in his own whipped cream.

“Did you make this stuff from real chocolate?” I asked.

“Huh? Oh, yeah. Someone really important to me used to make it for me like this, and when I left my hometown they taught me to make it. It’s really the only thing I know how to make from scratch,” he replied.

“Huh…”

I watched as Jean went back to his whipped cream, obviously enjoying it fully. He didn’t seem to notice me watching him until it was almost gone.

“What? Do I have something on my face?” he asked.

“Yeah, actually, right here,” I replied, wiping at the right side of my own mouth with my thumb.

“Thanks, man.” Jean licked up the spot and began gulping down his drink. I turned my attention to the garden.

_At least he didn’t seem to realize I had been staring at him for a while… But that had been some sort of indirect kiss earlier and holy shit when did I become some giggling schoolgirl. I am a grown man!_

“Hello? Marco? Anyone home in there?” Jean asked, waving a hand near my face. I jumped, having forgotten that he was literally sitting right next to me.

“Oh, yeah. Sorry.”

“Then what did I ask you?”

“I don’t know. Sorry, I was lost in thought.” Jean sighed.

“Jesus, Marco, you gotta notice when people are talking to you. I was asking if you wanted to come to this party Connie and Sasha are having. They just texted me about it and told me to ask if you wanted to come,” Jean said. I noticed he was holding a cell phone. He held it out to me so I could see.

**From: Connie**

**dude me and sasha are gonna have a party tomorrow. u should ask ur neighbor to come**

Jean’s phone chimed again as I was reading, replacing the old message with a new one.

**From: Connie**

**everyones coming so try to convince him i have 20 bucks on him actually being social for once**

I cracked a grin when I read the newest text.

“What?” Jean turned the phone toward himself and read the new text. “Oh, ha ha, very funny, Connie. Making a bet on the guy and you don’t even know him.”

Jean began to compose a new message, probably saying I wasn’t going to do it, when I stopped him. “Before you say no for me in advance, let me say I’m willing to go. But I’m not going to know anyone. He’s right, I’m really not that social,” I said.

Jean looked over at me and inspected my expression. “You’re sure?”

“Yeah, I’m sure. But considering you’re the only person in the neighborhood I know, I’ll probably be sticking close to you. Hope you don’t mind.”

“Nope.” Jean erased whatever he had written and composed a different message, sending it off. Not even a minute later, I heard a loud voice whooping in celebration from somewhere down the street. Jean shook his head as he read the new text.

“Connie’s definitely happy.” He put his phone on his leg and looked over at me. “Hey, I should probably get your number if you’re really going to do this. Because if I were you, I wouldn’t give Connie your number right away, so I’ll be the middleman.”

“Oh, sure.” I reeled off the numbers while Jean created the new contact. A few moments later, he put his phone back down.

“You should have a text in a minute.”

My phone went off in my pocket. I pulled it out and checked the new message.

**From: Unknown Number**

**hey its jean**

After I saved his number, I replied out of habit. He could see I had gotten it, but I was so used to having to reply to messages to make sure the person got it that I did it anyways.

**To: Jean**

**Got it. Thanks.**

Jean didn’t even check his phone when it went off. I quickly gulped down the last of my hot chocolate. “Alright, well, I should probably be going. Thanks for the hot chocolate.”

“Thanks for helping me out.”

I handed Jean the mug and left his yard, heading back to my own. The travel cup of coffee still sat on the little table, now cold. When I went inside and had thrown away the cup, I went into the room I usually wrote in at night and stared out the window. Directly facing it, but a little off to my left, was a window that looked into what seemed to be a bedroom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gosh, this second chapter just did not want to cooperate. But even so, I got it out pretty quickly. This isn't likely to be the pace for the rest of the work though (and I apologize in advance).
> 
> Anyways, I'm really glad you guys are enjoying this so far! I would have never thought that this would get even what it got with just the first chapter.  
> Also I may or may not be attempting to draw my designs for them in this chapter this weekend.
> 
> I'll start Jean's point of view tomorrow after school.


	3. Growth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marco experiences his first party in a long time.

The day of the party, I lay in bed, almost regretting my decision to go. It would have been nice to meet some new people, yeah, but it would have been overload. I didn’t go out much, so maybe going to a party to try getting a little more social wasn’t the best idea.

I rolled over and grabbed my phone, composing a text to Jean saying I couldn’t go. When I reached the part where I would have to fake an excuse, though, I gave up and erased everything. Instead, I began asking about the sort of thing that usually happened. It was already about eight-ish, and I knew Jean was an early riser due to the previous day’s events, so I wasn’t worried about waking him up.

**To: Jean**

**Hey, what sort of stuff should I expect for the thing today?**

After I sent the message, I realized I didn’t know when I would have to be ready by and hurriedly shot off another text.

**To: Jean**

**Also what time should I be ready?**

**From: Jean**

**picture a basic college party. make people older and no one doing illegal drugs. thts about it. its at like 4 but it always starts sooner**

I snorted. That was an easy enough thing to imagine. I assumed it wouldn’t be that bad based on that image.

**To: Jean**

**Okay, thanks. I’ll be at your place around 3 then. I’d like to get there early and ease into it some.**

**From: Jean**

**fuck i forgot u probably haven’t been to any parties since u were in school. yeah thts fine**

**To: Jean**

**Great. See you then.**

After that exchange was done, I let my phone slip out of my hand and onto the bed. I rolled out of bed and wrapped myself up in a blanket, not wanting to lose all the heat, and began getting ready. I probably spent half an hour trying to decide what to wear. _God, if I’m spending this much time trying to decide what to wear to a house party then I really do need to get out more._

I grabbed the first two things I could find after that and didn’t bother checking what it was until I realized I would have to fix my bedhead. It was one of my old My Chemical Romance shirts from back in my school days. I chuckled, fingering the hem. _I haven’t worn this in ages. I guess it’s appropriate. I can just throw on something over it and call it good._

By the time 2:45 rolled around, I had done everything I could think of that would make me presentable. I knew I was probably getting overly-worried, but I didn’t want to make a bad impression on the people on the neighborhood. According to Jean, I was known only as “that one neighbor who never leaves his house”. I didn’t want an even worse reason to be known for.

I tugged on a button-up shirt and my jacket over the shirt and shoved my keys and phone in my pocket before I began making my way toward Jean’s place. Jean was waiting on the porch when I got to his yard. He met me at the gate, and we began making our way down the street.

I looked over at Jean and noticed his scowl was more obvious than usual. “Do you not like parties?” I asked.

“I don’t mind them, but there’s this one guy I can’t stand who’s bound to be here. ‘M not looking forward to seeing the dick,” Jean replied.

I blinked. “He can’t be all bad…?”

Jean snorted. “You haven’t met the dude.”

“Okay, I guess that’s true, but still…”

When we arrived at Connie and Sasha’s house, I realized that Jean was right: I hadn’t heard it from the street, but as we approached the door I could already hear loud music being blasted. The windows were rattling from the bass. I almost turned right around and went back home, but I didn’t want to disappoint, so I instead squashed my uneasiness as best I could and allowed Jean to lead me into the house.

It had to have been only 3:30 or so, but the place was already pretty packed. There were people everywhere. Some were dancing near the speakers of the expansive (and expensive-looking) sound system, some were gathered around each other chatting, and some others were milling about and eating. Nearly everyone who wasn’t dancing was already holding one of those red solo cups that always seemed to be in movie versions of parties.

“Yo, Jean!”

I followed the voice to see the short man from yesterday approaching us, his arm moving enough for his drink to slosh over his hand every few steps. He stopped in front of us and looked at me for a moment.

“Sasha!” he called, not taking his eyes off me.

I heard a loudly yelled “yeah?” in response, followed closely by the woman from yesterday approaching us and throwing an arm around Connie’s neck, munching on some potato chips. The woman – Sasha – stared at me for a short amount of time before something clicked into place in her mind!

“Oh! It’s you! Hey, I’m glad you- Wait, no I’m not, now I owe Connie twenty bucks! Shit!” she said. Connie laughed, and she reached up to gently slap him on the back of the head. “Well, either way, it’s good to see you out of your cave. I’m Sasha.”

“Um, I’m Marco. Nice to meet you…” I trailed off, already wanting to go back home. I felt the pangs of a headache coming on.

“Well, Marco, glad you could make it! Make yourself at home! I’m Connie, by the way. Oh, wait, I should probably introduce you to everyone,” Connie said.

“I got it, guys, go have fun,” Jean interrupted.

Connie shrugged and walked off, pulling Sasha along with him. Before Jean could say anything else, I turned to him and began speaking.

“You think they’d mind if I raided the fridge? The stuff that’s usually put out at parties doesn’t always appeal to me, and I kind of have a headache…”

“Huh? Oh, no, I don’t think so. Well, Sasha might, but she’ll never figure out who it was if she cares. They might have some popsicles or something,” he replied.

Jean led me to the kitchen and pulled open the freezer, searching for something to give me. Eventually he pulled out a red popsicle and passed it to me, turning to the island where snack foods were set up. He leaned down and pulled a beer out of the cooler on the floor, cracking it open and taking a swig before turning back to me.

“Okay, so, you want to finish that first before I go introduce you to people?” he asked. I pulled the popsicle out of my mouth to answer.

“Yeah, that’d be best. I’m not going to remember much if I meet all these people with a headache.”

We sat on some bar stools and sat in silence, listening to the thump of the bass from the other room. Just as I took the last bite of my popsicle, a short guy with blond hair and blue eyes walked into the room. He hesitated when he saw me, but recovered and looked at Jean.

“Hey, Jean. Who’s this?” he asked.

“Oh, this is Marco. He’s my neighbor.” Jean turned to me. “Marco, this is Armin.”

I stood and walked to Armin, tossing the popsicle stick into the trash as I did. He took my offered hand and shook it, smiling up at me. “Nice to meet you, Armin.”

“Likewise. Hey, if you don’t mind me saying, you seem kind of uncomfortable. Is something wrong?” he asked. I already was beginning to like him. I let my hand drop to my side and ran the other through my hair.

“No, not really. I’m not used to being around so many people. It’s been a while since I’ve been to a party like this,” I replied. Armin smiled.

“Yeah, you don’t seem like the kind of person to come to parties much. Well, this is about as bad as it gets.”

“Nice to know. Thanks.” I noticed Jean walk up beside me and glanced at him.

“You feeling better now?” he asked, tapping on the side of my head.

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

“Okay, then I’d better go introduce you to some other people. We’ll see you later, Armin,” he said. I turned and waved to Armin as I followed him out.

“Nice to meet you, Armin!” I called back. I saw him say something in response, but it was too loud outside the kitchen to hear him.

Jean introduced me to a multitude of new people. I would probably have issues remembering them all away from this setting, but Jean reassured me that once they knew me, they wouldn’t forget and would probably start getting me into their events as well. It seemed like certain people in the group threw parties like this every once in a while and invited pretty much the entire neighborhood. I was reminded that now that I had come to this party, people would expect me to come to more and more of these neighborhood parties.

Eventually, Jean grabbed an armful of beers and dragged me onto the back porch, which seemed to be the only place people hadn’t spread to. He dumped his haul onto the porch table and slumped into one chair, pointing me to the other one. Once I had seated myself, he slid one of the cans to me and cracked open another one for himself. He leaned his head onto the back of the chair and balanced the can on his leg, sighing.

“I can’t stand being around that many people for that long. I’m just glad we managed to avoid Jaeger for the most part,” he said. I remembered this Jaeger; he was apparently the one Jean hated, and he had only been pointed out to me from across a room.

“Yeah, it definitely takes the right kind of person to like these things,” I replied, taking a sip of the beer.

I don’t remember how long we were out there, but after a while, there was an even number of beer cans arranged in front of each of us. Jean was pretty hammered. He had had a few beers inside while I was trying to remember all the people I was being introduced to. I couldn’t tell exactly how drunk I was, but I was probably too drunk to legally drive.

Jean slumped forward onto the table, balancing his chin on the surface. He eyed me from that position, his face flushed from the alcohol. I balanced my cheek on my hand and watched him as well, waiting for him to say something. No one said anything. I was about to say something – I don’t even remember what – when the back door opened and a small silhouette passed through the doorway. It was Armin. He took one look at us and realized we were pretty drunk.

“Hey, Marco, we should probably get you home. Jean, too. You guys look pretty drunk,” he said. I nodded and stood, walking around the table to Jean. When I reached for his arm, I missed once before actually grabbing his arm. I gently pulled him to his feet and slung his arm over my shoulders.

“Hey, Armin? Would ya mind leadin’ us to Jean’s place? It’s closer,” I said. Apparently I wasn’t too drunk, because I was still able to recognize the slur in my speech.

“Yeah, I can do that. C’mon,” he replied.

With Armin’s help, we managed to make it to Jean’s front porch. After I dug in Jean’s pants pocket and found his keys, Armin bade us good night and went back to the party. I could still hear the music from here and hoped there were no kids with school the next day unable to sleep because of the music.

I managed to drag Jean to his couch before feeling too exhausted to move any further. I dropped him onto the three-seater and slumped onto the love seat. Jean rolled slowly over and began looking at me again.

“Jus’ stay here. Fer t’night. ‘Kay, Marco?” he slurred. I didn’t have time to answer before he rolled back over and began snoring. I stared at him for a moment before shrugging and snuggling into the fabric of the chair. I was asleep myself within moments.

* * *

 

When I woke up the next morning, I was curled into an awkward position with my head hanging off the side of an unfamiliar chair. I jerked upright, startled, before remembering Jean’s drunken request and falling asleep on his couch the night before. There was a digital clock on the mantle of the fireplace, proudly displaying that it was 8:34 in the morning. I heard sounds from the kitchen and followed them there.

Jean was standing at the stove, stirring scrambled eggs in a pan. He turned when I pulled out a chair to sit at the counter. He saluted me with the fork he was holding.

“Morning, Sleeping Beauty,” he said, turning back to the eggs and folding them.

“Do you not have a hangover?” I asked. He shook his head.

“Nah, I’m good. I hold my liquor pretty well. I’m assuming you are, too, since you aren’t complaining about noise or light or anything?”

“Yeah, I’m fine too.”

Silence followed the exchange. Jean broke it to ask if I minded pepper in my eggs. When I shook my head, he added a few dashes of the spice to the eggs and refolded them. A few more moments passed, and Jean put the eggs onto two saucers. He handed me one and slid a fork over the counter before walking around it to sit beside me. I felt him watching me as I ate. I turned to look at him.

“What’re you staring at? Do I have weird patterns pressed into my face or something?” I asked. Jean shook his head.

“No, that’s not it. I was trying to figure out if you had your ear pierced at one point.”

I put down my fork and reached up to my earlobes. “I thought the scars were mostly gone…” I said softly.

“So you’re not denying it.”

I let my hands fall and picked up the fork again. “Nah, not denying it. I had my ears pierced in high school. They were just some simple little rings, though.”

“You don’t seem to be the type for earrings. So what was it? A dare? Trying to be a rebel?” Jean asked. I chuckled.

“Nah, I was what I guess you could call a ‘softcore punk’ or something along those lines. I was never brave enough to get any tattoos, but I did get my ears pierced.”

Jean glanced down at my shirt. “That from that time too?”

I nodded. “Yep. I haven’t worn this in years. This was one of my favorite bands back then,” I said, thinking back on my collection of My Chemical Romance CDs. “I might still have some of my CDs in a box somewhere.”

Jean looked at me for a moment before turning back to his food. “That’s not as impressive as what I expected.” I snorted.

“Coming from the guy whose hands are permanently stained brown from gardening so much,” I replied.

It had been a long time since I had talked about my time in high school with anyone. It was kind of nice. I was liking Jean more and more as we spent more time together. I decided I just had to get to know him a little more before I could tell him what I really did. When my mind passed over that subject, I looked back into his living room and noticed no bookshelves. He didn’t seem like the kind of person to keep books in his room if he was a reader, so I decided to ask.

“So what is it you do with your time if you’re not in your garden?”

“Uh, nothing, really. There’s usually not much that catches my attention on TV, and I’m not too much of a reader. I guess I take walks.” He paused. “I’m kind of a boring person.”

There was the answer I wanted.

“You’re saying that to the person who had been holed up in his house for ages,” I replied. Jean laughed.

“Yeah, I guess that’s true. You were like some sort of social recluse or something.” He paused. “Nothing like what I assume you were like when you were a ‘punk’ back in high school.”

I could hear the smile in his voice.

“What? It’s true! Why else would I have pierced my ears and have this shirt?” Jean shrugged.

“I dunno. Some people just do that for the hell of it.”

We chatted about nothing for a while, and I really enjoyed it. I had realized, as I spent more time with Jean, that I didn’t have a lot of friends. It had never bothered me before, but now that I had Jean and was beginning to make more friends, I realized just how lonely I really was. Eventually, I checked the time on my phone and realized it was already noon.

“Wow, we’ve been talking for a long time.”

“Really? What time is it?” Jean leaned over my shoulder and looked at the screen of my phone. “Shit, you’re right. I have to water my plants… Don’t really want to get up, though…”

Jean pushed his plate away from himself and slumped on the counter, acting like a lazy teenager. I stood, chuckling, and moved our plates to the sink.

“C’mon, Jean, I know you don’t want to let all your work go to waste. Besides, if everything died, I wouldn’t have a pretty garden to look at any more,” I said, tugging on his arm.

“Alright, alright. I’ll go work on it,” he replied. I smiled and followed him out of the house, heading to the gate.

“Alright, then, Jean. I guess I should probably get going. Thanks for letting me stay at your place last night,” I said, waving. Jean waved as he turned to the hose and spigot.

Just as I entered my front room, my phone went off in my pocket. I had a lot of messages (for me, at least). The most recent one was from Jean.

**From: Unknown Number**

**dude im glad u made it to the party! but y did u stay at jeans last night? its connie by the way**

**From: Unknown Number**

**Hey, Marco, it’s Armin. I had a question for you whenever you get this.**

**From: Unknown Number**

**Yo marco its sasha! How was the party? U think ur gonna go to more?**

**From: Jean**

**hey today was pretty fun. we should do it again sometime**

I smiled. I had to admit, it was pretty fun. After I saved the unknown numbers, I began replying, beginning with Connie.

**To: Connie**

**I’m glad I went! Jean’s place is closer. And how did you get my number?**

**From: Connie**

**snuck a peek on jeans phone**

**From: Connie**

**and suuuuuuure dude dont think i cant see right thru u**

**To: Connie**

**I’m not sure what you mean?**

**From: Connie**

**i saw u 2 out there talking. u were reeeeeeally close over the table there**

**To: Connie**

**Okay then. Whatever you say.**

After that, Connie didn’t reply, so I replied to Sasha.

**To: Sasha**

**It was fun, thanks for inviting me! Not sure I’ll go to another one if it’s really soon, but I will go to others!**

**To: Sasha**

**I’m assuming you got my number from Jean’s phone too?**

**From: Sasha**

**Great! Ill hold u to that!**

**From: Sasha**

**Yeah howd u know?**

**To: Sasha**

**That’s how Connie got my number too.**

**From: Sasha**

**Ohhhhhh ok**

I had nothing else to say to Sasha, so I then replied to Jean. I decided to save Armin for last because he had a question, and usually conversations beginning with those dragged on.

**To: Jean**

**Yeah, it was fun. Just let me know if you want to hang out or something sometime. I’ve got a pretty good movie collection if you like those.**

**From: Jean**

**yeah that would be great. ill keep that in mind**

Finally, I replied to Armin. I vaguely remembered giving him my number at some point during the party, so I didn’t bother asking him how he got it.

**To: Armin**

**Hey, what’s up? What did you want to ask?**

**From: Armin**

**I hope it’s not intrusive for me to ask, but you wouldn’t happen to be the same Marco who writes those books, would you?**

The smile fell from my face. I’d been found out. Honestly, I wasn’t surprised. Armin seemed like the type to read a lot. When I finally found words, I typed a response.

**To: Armin**

**I’d rather talk about this in person. When’s the next time you’re free?**

**From: Armin**

**I’m not busy right now if you don’t mind.**

**To: Armin**

**Now is fine. I’m the house to the right of Jean when you face the other side of the street.**

After dumping my phone on the couch, I hurriedly changed into some clean clothes and brushed my hair out so I’d be presentable. I sat fidgeting on the couch while I waited. It felt like an eternity had passed before the doorbell rang. I let Armin in and gestured for him to take a seat before sitting myself.

“So are you really the author of those books?” he asked.

_Wow, Armin sure does get right to the point._

“Yeah, I am. But listen, you can’t tell anyone. I don’t want to be recognized all the time out in the street. If and/or when I feel more comfortable, I'll tell the others. I like my privacy, yeah?” I said.

Armin nodded. “That’s understandable. Wow, I can’t believe one of my friends is an author. You don’t mind if I call you a friend, do you?”

“No, that’s fine.” _A friend! Jesus, how long have I been shutting myself in for me to have that reaction to that?_

“But I have to say, I almost didn’t think it was you. You’re so different than I would have thought you’d be. More formal, I guess, maybe a little older. Definitely not my age! You must have been right out of high school when you published your first book, right?”

“Yeah, I had been working on that one since my freshman year, though a lot of the earlier stuff had been edited in the process…” I trailed off and realized that this was my perfect chance. Maybe Armin would know more about Jean.

“That’s amazing, though! I mean, here I am, studying medicine, but here you are, already a published author of some pretty popular books!”

“That’s impressive to you? I think your studying medicine is more impressive!” I paused and took a deep breath. “Hey, you wouldn’t happen to know about Jean’s reading habits, would you?”

“Oh, yeah, why?”

“Oh, I’m just curious.”

“Well, I know he’s got some books, but I don’t know if he’s ever actually read them. He doesn’t really enjoy reading too much. He prefers movies.”

I nodded, partly to myself. _That must be why, then._ “Alright. Thanks.”

“Thank you for chatting with me. I’d better get going, though. It’s about time for me to go check in at my part-time job. But don’t worry. Your secret’s safe with me. But there aren’t a whole lot of people in the group who read as much as I do, so you should be pretty safe,” Armin said as he stood. He let himself out and waved as he left.

I waved back until the door was shut again. Then I let myself flop onto the couch, letting out a long sigh of relief. _At least he isn’t the type to freak out. Armin’s a good guy. I like him, too._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here we are, with a new chapter. I seriously need to start outlining things, though. I had writer's block in like three different places writing this one. It's probably going to take longer to get things out from here on out, and I'd like to apologize in advance.
> 
> I can't believe all the attention this is getting though. You guys are great! I would have never thought an idea that came from a dream I can't even remember that I had to get up and write down in the middle of the night would be so well received.
> 
> I'd also like to remind you guys that I made a tumblr to connect to here, under the URL detectiveknights. It's still in progress, but you guys are more than welcome to go check it out!


	4. Blooms

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marco realizes how good of a friend Jean can be, even if he is an asshole.

“Thanks for coming all the way out here, Mom. All that way to just drop off some boxes must have made this a tedious trip.”

“Oh, never tedious, sweetie! I’ve been wanting to see you! I just wish Marie could have come along, too… She’s always asking about you. ‘When can I see Marco again,’ ‘I miss Marco,’ ‘Is Marco coming to visit this weekend,’ and things like that.”

“Tell her I miss her too, okay?”

“Of course!”

I walked my mother to the door, carrying the three signed copies of my last book for her. I always saved four copies of the first print – one for me, and three for the other members of my family. I hadn’t wanted to send them in the mail, because I was afraid of them getting lost. While doing some organizing in the attic, she had come across a couple boxes of my old things and wanted to bring them to me on her next day off. My sister Marie was extremely upset that she hadn’t been able to come along. Three days before, she had broken her arm. My mom was afraid of her getting uncomfortable sitting in a car for six hours in one day (for the round trip), so she hadn’t been allowed to come.

“I’ll try to come visit soon. Before the end of the month at the very latest.”

“Sweetie, you’re always welcome.”

I passed the books to my mom, knowing she would want to situate them herself. Mom placed them on the passenger seat and shut the car door before turning back to me and hugging me. She stepped back and smiled a moment later, but something behind me caught her attention. She leaned around me to get a better look, and I turned to see myself.

Jean was standing in his yard, looking at us. I glanced down at Mom and watched her smile and wave. The tiniest hint of a smile registered on Jean’s face, and he gave us the most half-assed wave I had ever seen. I waved him over.

Jean pulled off his gardening gloves and stuffed them in his back pocket, depositing the bucket of mulch he had been holding on a post of his fence on the way over. He seemed uncomfortable, but I wanted him to at least meet my mom.

“Jean, this is my mom. Mom, this is my friend Jean,” I said.

“Oh! It’s so nice to meet you, Jean! Marco’s told me about you!” Mom said, giving him a big smile.

“Mom,” I groaned. I didn’t want Jean to know that.

“It’s nice to meet you too, Mrs. Bodt,” Jean said, holding out his hand to shake. That was a good thing. My mom judged people by the kind of handshake they gave. She grasped his hand and firmly pumped it up and down, looking pleased. He must have a good handshake.

“Please, call me Angela. I’m afraid you got me right before I have to go home, though. It’s a three-hour drive to get home, and I don’t want it to be too late when I get back,” she replied.

“Jean, you wouldn’t happen to know any good florists, would you?” I asked.

“Why?”

“Well, my sister just broke her arm, and that made it so she couldn’t come to visit. I wanted to send some roses home for her.”

“Oh, well, I dunno about any florists, but I could give you some of mine,” Jean replied.

“Huh?” I began, oh-so-eloquently. “Oh, no, I couldn’t take any of your flowers!”

Jean waved a hand. “It’s fine, dude. My sterlings went crazy this year, so I have tons of roses.” He walked back toward his garden. “I’ll be back in a minute,” he called over his shoulder.

Mom turned to me. “He seems like a nice boy.”

“Yeah. It’s, uh, kinda thanks to him that I’ve seen the sun as much as I have lately.”

Mom nodded. “So does he like to garden?”

“It’s pretty much his life. I don’t think he does anything else, unless he’s doing someone’s landscaping.”

Mom looked over my yard, full of dying grass and a couple pitiful-looking shrubs. “Maybe you should have him do your yard. It’s sad to look at yours with his right next door.”

“Trust me, I know.”

Jean came back a few moments later, holding a beautifully-made-up bouquet of pale purple roses, with the thorns carefully removed and tied with a sheet of thin plastic and a ribbon matching the roses. He held another, smaller bouquet alongside the roses, made up of a few white lilies and accented with a sprig of tiny pink berries. That one was tied with a white ribbon. Both were offered to my mother.

“The lilies are for you, the roses are for your daughter. I hope she feels better,” Jean said, making an extra effort to sound polite.

“Goodness! These are beautiful! Thank you, Jean!” Mom took the bouquets and carefully bundled them into her arms, smelling them as she did. Once she had them carefully laid on the floor of the passenger side, she climbed into the driver’s seat. “Alright, I’d better get going. It was nice meeting you, Jean!”

“Nice to meet you, too.”

Before she pulled away, I leaned down through the window and kissed her on the cheek. “Bye, Mom. Remember to tell Marie what I said.”

“Bye, sweetie. I’ll remember.”

With that, she pulled out of the driveway and drove away, waving goodbye. I turned to Jean and smiled. “I didn’t know you made bouquets,” I said.

“What, are you going to tease me for it?” he asked. Jean was in a sour mood. I couldn’t tell why, but I instantly felt bad for saying something.

“No! I think it’s amazing. I would never be able to do anything like that. I think my mom loves you now,” I hurriedly said.

“Well, that’s one mother then.” Jean turned and stalked toward his garden again. I followed, unwilling to let it end just there.

“Jean, is there something wrong? You know you can tell me, right?” I offered softly.

Jean sighed. “I know. I just… Be glad for the good relationship you have with your mom, alright?” he said. I blinked.

“Well, of course I am, but I don’t think I know what you mean?”

He raked a hand through his hair, sighing through his nose. “I fucked up my relationship with my mom, right after seventh grade, and now I doubt anything I do can fix that. It made me jealous, seeing how easy it is for you to talk with your mom.”

I felt horrible after he said that. “I’m sorry, Jean. I didn’t realize…”

“No, it’s fine.”

“But I hope you realize that if you just talk to your mom, you might be able to work things out. You know?”

“I know. I guess I’m just afraid to.” Jean shook his head. “I need to go think some stuff over. Can we finish talking about this later?”

“Sure. Just remember what I said, alright?”

Jean nodded. He tossed his gardening gloves into his toolbox and put the bucket of mulch beside it before stalking off into his house. I stayed in his yard, watching his door. After a moment, I shook my head and headed back to my house to look through the boxes my mom had brought.

The boxes were old, beat-up cardboard. There were three of them. One was labelled “Marco- Middle School”, another “Marco- Old Pictures”, and the last one “Marco- Old Projects”. First I opened the one labelled “Old Projects”.

The box was filled with old notebooks, sketchbooks, and sheets of loose paper. Doodles and short stories covered the pages, some from when I was so young I could hardly hold a pencil correctly. I smiled as I looked through the papers, finding old short stories I used to write for Marie and the pictures I remembered having taped up onto my bedroom walls. I found one sketchbook where I had covered the front cover with blue cardstock – probably because the drawing that had come on the cover creeped me out – and had scribbled the words “Marco Bodt Seventh Grade” onto it in my old messy scrawl. Seventh grade was about a year before I finally learned to write neatly by slowing myself down. However, I couldn’t remember anything about my seventh grade year.

Seventh grade was a blur for me. It was strange, because I could remember big events from sixth grade and a good part of eighth grade, but in place of what should have been memories from seventh grade was just a hole.

I flipped open the sketchbook, rediscovering that seventh grade was the year I drew exclusively in a crappy old cartoon style. A wry smile spread across my face as I flipped pages. Some pages had half-colored drawings of people. I couldn’t remember if they were people I knew or characters I had made up or seen somewhere, or even if they were people that I had seen in passing. Somewhere around the middle of the sketchbook, though, which I guessed was about October of that school year (considering how many doodles of stereotypical monsters there were), I began seeing pictures of the same person over and over.

My eyebrows furrowed together. I felt like I should recognize the figure, but I couldn’t for the life of me place the face. Maybe part of it had to do with how bad I was at consistency or the way I distorted features so much in that style, but even with that I could feel the drawings tugging at my mind. I dug out my eighth grade sketchbook, but the person wasn’t in there even once (though it was a relief that I had started getting better by then). At the very bottom of the box, though, I found a small sketchbook, with sheets of paper about half the size of the average one. Scribbled over the cover the maker had put on it was “Marco Bodt Summer Before 8th”.

That sketchbook was filled with doodles of that person. I couldn’t figure out why they were in both of those sketchbooks, but they had made not even a single appearance in the one from eighth grade.  I left both sketchbooks open to some sketches of the person that were considerably better than the rest and turned to the box labelled “Middle School”.

I dug in that box until I found the yearbook from seventh grade. I fanned through the pages, looking for that face. It wasn’t until I had nearly reached the end of the yearbook that I found them. It was on the “best friends” page that I found it. It was a picture of me with the person – but it wasn’t at school. I was lying in a hospital bed, and the person was slouched against my pillow with their arm around my shoulders.  I had a pretty good smile, considering how dark the circles under my eyes were and how tired I looked. An air tube was hooked under my nose and around my ears, and there was an IV drip in my inner elbow. The other person was grinning and making a peace sign at the camera. But the picture wasn’t labelled.

Holding the page with my index finger, I hurriedly flipped to the beginning of the pictures of the seventh grade class. I flipped through that part slowly. There I was, looking happy, if pale, as I grinned into the camera. I noticed a few other people I thought I would probably recognize if I saw a more recent picture of them. It wasn’t until I reached the K’s that I found who I was looking for.

The person was Jean.

It was seventh grade Jean, wearing a forced smile that displayed a set of braces over a barely-hidden grimace. He had slightly chubbier cheeks then than he did now, and a bad case of acne, but otherwise he pretty much looked the same as he did now. I turned back to the page with the picture of us in the hospital. I didn’t even remember being so sick as to needing to be put in the hospital.

I put the yearbook aside, too, and pulled the box labelled “Old Pictures”. The box was full of photo albums my mom had put together for me. I put aside albums until I found the one from seventh grade. There, written in my mom’s script on the front cover, was a detail of what happened.

_“Marco, seventh grade. Contracted pneumonia, spent quite a bit of time learning from the hospital. Near-constant companion was best friend Jean Kirstein. Jean kept Marco in high spirits and did his best to help teach him his lessons, despite his own struggles with some lessons.”_

“I knew Jean before we became neighbors?” I whispered.

Before I began looking through the photo album, I picked the yearbook back up. I turned to the signature pages and looked for Jean’s name. And there it was, in a messy script, along with a note that was taking up nearly half the page and written in smudged green ink.

_“Marco- Gonna miss you. Wish I didn’t have to move. Mom wouldn’t hear me out. But either way, you’ll always be my best friend. Even if you forget our promise, I never will. I’ll find you again someday. I promise. –Jean.”_

At the end of the note, right below Jean’s name, was a doodle of two faces, one with angry-looking eyes and one with freckles, along with a couple of what I assumed were supposed to be gardenias, one of my favorite flowers and one of the only ones I could always remember the name of, done in a shaky hand.

I stared at the page. What promise? I guess I understood why I couldn’t remember seventh grade any more, but I would have thought I would remember something that big. And why wouldn’t I remember my best friend being my best friend before the most recent time we became best friends?

I pounced on my phone, about two feet away from me on the other side of the couch, and called Jean before I could even think about what I was doing. My eyes widened as the dial tone reverberated in my ears. I knit my eyebrows together a moment later, deciding I was going to ask him about what happened in seventh grade.

“Hello?”

Right at that moment, I chickened out. My mouth gaped like a fish, and I heard a quiet wheeze escape. I couldn’t do it. Even if I could, how was I to know if he had kept true to his promise to remember?

“Hello? Earth to Marco! You there?”

“O- Oh! Yeah, sorry!” _Oh, God, I didn’t think of a backup plan! Think, think! What can I say!?_

“Okay, well, did you need something?” I could hear the confusion seeping into his tone.

My eyes fell onto a DVD – the copy of Real Steel my mom had meant to give me for my birthday a few months before but had forgotten to mail out. “Uh, I was just wondering if you wanted to come watch a movie later today? My mom gave me a copy of Real Steel while she was here. She was supposed to have sent it to me months ago but she kinda forgot, and anyway, I was wondering if you wanted to watch it with me? Wait, I asked that already…”

There was a moment of silence on Jean’s end of the line after I trailed off. I knew I had been rambling, and I hated myself for it. Now I sounded especially suspicious, if he hadn’t suspected something before.

“Sure, dude. How does six sound? I can bring over a pizza,” Jean said, barely hiding the laughter he was trying to hold back.

“Okay, awesome. Sounds great. I’ll see you then.”

I hung up the phone after saying goodbye to Jean and then checked the time at the top of the display. It was only eleven. I decided to try to sleep, knowing that if I stayed awake I wouldn’t be able to do anything for worrying over what exactly had happened in seventh grade. Once I had put everything back into their respective boxes and put the boxes in my study (the one room Jean knew I wasn’t going to allow him into any time soon), I padded into my bedroom. After changing into my pajama pants and taking off the shirt I had been wearing, I flopped onto my bed and pulled a blanket over me. I fell asleep fifteen minutes later, my phone beside my head.

* * *

 

I woke up with a start six hours later, gasping. As my chest heaved, I grew slowly more aware of my surroundings. The blanket I had tossed over myself was tangled around my feet, and all my pillows had been shoved off the bed. My skin was coated in a sheen of sticky sweat, and my hair was plastered to my head. I sat up and raked my hands through my hair, resting my elbows on my knees.

It had started out like my most recent non-nightmare dream. Lately, I kept dreaming of wandering through a supersized version of Jean’s garden, as if I were a tiny little elf. But it quickly morphed into something almost worse than my nightmares. A giant Jean – probably normal sized, if I hadn’t been so tiny – had found me and looked at me like I was a disgusting bug that he had found in the middle of trying to kill his plants by eating them. He had plucked me up between two fingers and held me in front of his face, glaring at me as I squirmed uselessly.

Then, the amber color I had grown so fond of disappeared from his eyes, so they were only whites. His skin began to melt, and he spoke. “Why don’t you remember, Marco? You promised,” he breathed. His voice hadn’t been his voice. It had been there, but it was a hollow echo of his usually boisterous voice hidden under a deep, echoing monster voice. His mouth had gaped open, wider than the human jaw was supposed to open, and I was dropped down his throat. Whispers in his voice tormented me with questions similar to those first dream-words as I tumbled down his throat, Alice-in-Wonderland-style.

When I finally had reached his stomach, my throat was raw from screaming and I was disoriented. Inside his stomach were dead versions of him, versions from every nightmare I had ever had that had featured him. There was him, dead from the version that had inspired my horror book Titanfall, still in his uniform and clutching the hilts of broken swords. There was another him, from a version where he was the target of some crazy people and I was the agent assigned to protect him, a shot through his heart where I had failed to protect him. And yet another him, a college-best-friends version of him, dead where I had had him so distracted that he accidentally swerved into oncoming traffic and had a head-on collision with a semi. Another him, from a version where I was a giant snake monster, squished almost past recognition when I had accidentally constricted him to death. Him, dead in a police uniform and Kevlar vest, bullet holes riddling the parts of his body exposed by the vest. Him, college-aged, drowned from a panic attack while trying to get over a fear of water. Him, dead in a wheelchair and high school football jersey from complications to a spinal injury. So many dead versions of Jean. I couldn’t take it. I would die myself if I couldn’t get away.

I had been having nightmares of his death for longer than I could remember, even before I had apparently met him in seventh grade.

Right before I woke up, all the dead Jeans stood and turned to me. “You must remember, Marco, or it will all happen again. Stop the loop, Marco. Remember. Remember!” they all said in that horrifying dream from before.

I shook my head and pulled at my bangs, biting back a scream. I couldn’t let it get to me. It was just a nightmare. But then…

If it was just a nightmare, then why had I always been able to conjure up Jean’s face, even before I had met him? It’s been proven that the mind can’t make up its own face, that even the most fleeting face from a forgotten dream is someone that person had seen at least once in their life. It didn’t make sense.

By the time I managed to completely calm myself down, it was 5:15. I spent the next forty-five minutes doing busy work to keep my mind off things. When Jean finally arrived, I was washing the dishes in the sink for the second time. I let him set up the movie while I finished up the last couple dishes.

When I went into my living room, Jean was draped on the love seat with the remote on his stomach, staring at the main menu without really seeing it. He looked up as I dropped onto the couch. I motioned toward the TV, telling him he could start the movie. He did, but at the same time he looked at me strangely.

“Dude, are you sure you’re alright? You’re really acting weird,” he said over the sound of the opening scene.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Why do you ask?”

“Well, you look dead-tired, and you had looked perfectly fine this morning. And you sounded strange on the phone earlier. You’re definitely a hundred percent okay?”

I shook my head. “Yeah, I’m fine. I had just been trying to hide how tired I was when my mom was here. I didn’t want to worry her.”

Jean gave me a strange look, like he knew I was lying, but he didn’t pry any further. He just shrugged and turned to the TV, paying attention as the robots on screen beat the crap out of each other. I held back a sigh and slumped further into my seat, allowing myself to forget what I had discovered as I let my mind immerse itself into the movie. Once I had been mesmerized by the movie, I relaxed.

At one point, Jean mentioned that he was hungry. I let him help himself to whatever was in the kitchen. He came back with two bowls, filled with a mix of tortilla chips and pretzels, and handed one to me. He settled back onto the love seat and balanced the bowl on his stomach. Absently, he worked his way through the bowl until it was empty. Once he realized it was empty, he set the bowl on the coffee table and yawned. I barely touched mine, aside from a pretzel and a few chips.

I’m not quite sure when, exactly, but at some point during the course of the movie I nodded off. When I woke up, a blanket had been neatly draped over me. My bowl had been moved to the coffee table in front of me, and one of the couch pillows had been tucked under my head. The main menu of the movie was repeating the same music over and over. Jean was curled into an awkward position, another blanket draped across his legs. He was lying on his side and had one arm over his eyes, the other (that being the one on the side he was lying on) was stretched along his stomach. His legs were curled up toward his chest so they wouldn’t hang over the edge of the couch.

I smiled and stood, yawning. Jean was a good friend, even if he was a bit of an asshole sometimes. I moved toward him and repositioned his arms so he would be a little more comfortable, wedging a pillow under his head. He muttered in his sleep, but he didn’t wake up or fight my readjusting him. After that, I draped the blanket over him and switched out the DVD for a different movie, grabbing my laptop in the process. I slammed out a quick two-thousand-word short story, inspired by what had just happened, and put in into the practice folder on my computer.

With that, I repositioned myself into the one I had found myself in when I woke up and watched the movie until I fell back asleep, smiling.

_Even being the way he is, Jean is still a good guy, and a good friend. Wish I could say the same about myself. I’m a horrible friend. I don’t even have the courage to tell him what I do for a living. But at least he’s still here with me, even knowing that there’s so much I won’t tell him._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, originally this chapter was going to be completely different. But then I had an idea that would actually further the plot, rather than what I had had planned, so I pushed what I had planned back to be chapter five and made this one chapter four. To be completely honest, though, I'm not too sure how some of what made an appearance in this chapter will tie in with what I have planned and what'll come to be after this chapter. But don't worry, I'll figure something out!


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